


Rainbow of Rare Pairs

by RoseHarperMaxwell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Last Drabble Writer Standing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHarperMaxwell/pseuds/RoseHarperMaxwell
Summary: Written for theDramione Last Drabble Writer Standing- Round 3 Collection. Each week is a different rare pair and color theme.Chapter One: Hermione/Charlie - Red/PassionChapter Two: Harry/Theo - Blue/CalmChapter Three: Blaise/Ginny - Green/JealousyChapter Four: Pansy/Percy - Grey/ComplexityChapter Five: Harry/Daphne - Orange/CreativityChapter Six: Ginny/Luna - Yellow/Playful
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Percy Weasley, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Catching Up  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 250  
> Warnings: None

“Bookworm.” Charlie’s smile lit his face as he swung his axe into a round of wood. "You made it."

“Hi, Charlie.” Hermione cradled the bundle to her chest. It would be her luck to drop it while ogling her favorite Weasley—the only one she'd let get away with using that nickname. “Is there a reason you’re not using magic?”

“Keeps me fit,” he said, stealing her breath with a wink. “My shoulders don’t look like this from lifting a wand.” He shrugged into a red plaid flannel, foregoing buttons to lay back his sleeves instead. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. The overall effect tapped right into her fantasies, and she suspected he knew it.

“Who do we have here,” he murmured, stepping close to gently palm the speckled egg. “Brilliant. I have a broody Fireball mum who'll do nicely. Shall we head to the nursery?”

She presented her standard feeble protest. “Oh, I have a return portkey.”

“Hermione.” Charlie radiated heat, and it spread through her as he caught a curl between his fingers. “I saw you staring. You know the appreciation is mutual. Let me make you dinner, and we can catch up.”

“By catch up, you mean spend the night together," she clarified. "Again.” 

“Mmmhmm,” he nodded. “I do mean that.” He flashed her an easy grin. “Or we can chat and I'll take the sofa. It's always up to you.”

Hermione was weak for his genuine chivalry, but she'd never managed to regret it. 

“We could catch up.”


	2. The Bluest Water You'll Ever See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Bluest Water You’ll Ever See  
> Rating: M  
> Word Count: 400  
> Warnings: None

Ron claps you on the back, harder than he probably means to. "Don't be nervous, mate." 

"Yes, everything's going to be fine, Harry." Hermione sticks a bundle of forget-me-nots to your shirt, hands fluttering as she straightens your collar. 

"I know," you say. "I'm not nervous."

* * *

You still carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Theo brandishes charm and wit like protective shields. But since the first night the two of you connected, you've seen right through each other.

Being with Theo feels _good._ Like sinking into the deep bath he ran when you got off work late last week. His sure fingers slipped each button from your Auror robes; his bright eyes held yours. Tension rolled off your body, dissipating like steam from the water. It always does when you're with him.

Not that Theo doesn't make your pulse race or your nerves sing. He does, and he did that night, his effort evident in the amount of water sloshed on the floor. Afterward, you settled back against his chest, your head lolling on his shoulder as your heartbeat normalized.

"Draco owns an island," he said.

"Mm." Bliss softened your sense of curiosity. "That's no surprise."

"It's got the bluest water you'll ever see. So he says."

"Only the best for a Malfoy."

Theo's snort threatened a further breach of water. "I was thinking you could take a holiday from work. Maybe next week?" 

Your thumb traced reassurance into the palm of his hand. "Robards has been a beast lately. 'Unless it's your funeral or your wedding, expect to be here for the foreseeable future.'" 

"Funny you should say." The movement of Theo’s throat in your periphery betrayed his casual tone. "The water sounds quite spectacular. I was thinking I'd like to marry you by it, if that's alright with you." 

* * *

The island—with guests you can count on the fingers between the two of you—gives you the privacy and solitude Theo knows you need. 

And the water is really something, to be honest. But it has nothing on the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle, or his sparkling eyes that make you feel _seen._ He settles your restlessness and soothes the part of you that questions yourself. 

So, no. You're not nervous at all, taking steps through warm sand toward your future. Your heart beats, slow and steady. 

You've never been more sure.


	3. Unhealthy Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Unhealthy Balance  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: None  
> Word Count: 442

The problem, Blaise thinks, lies in the _imbalance._

He has no sappy daydreams of broken marriages and grand declarations. Their arrangement has been clear since the beginning, but the transparency doesn't make it any easier to endure.

He watches her on Potter's arm at the Ministry Gala, her tight smile and forced laughter impossible to miss.

He waits for the images to appear in the next day's Prophet as though they haven't been playing continuously in his mind.

He parses each second of the looping kiss, tracking the dip of Potter's hand over her arse. Glaring at the near-imperceptible press of fingertips. 

Maybe it's normal for a husband to caress his wife like that, in public. But Blaise sees green nonetheless, a bilious haze of envy clouding his sensibility.

* * *

When Draco mentions an imminent mission, Blaise can breathe. The monster inside is soothed; chuffed, even. It knows when Draco goes away, Potter does too. And when that happens—

“Blaise?” her voice carries over the dying sputters of the Floo. “Are you in here?” 

She rounds the corner and her top hits the floor before he can rise from the sofa.

“Thank fuck,” she says, climbing into his lap. “I thought they’d never get called out again.”

The monster is appeased. But it's only a matter of time, Blaise knows, before something so skewed will cease to bring him pleasure.

* * *

It would be easy to pretend that he hadn't sketched out every detail. 

_The timing:_ standing after-hours Auror pub night.  
_The setting:_ his sofa, seated in the same spot he always occupies when Ginny comes calling.  
_The cast:_ a fit redhead, perhaps a bit younger than the one who consumes him, but a passable double.

He almost allows his face to depict something boring and cliché— _alarm, shame, remorse_ —as Ginny's wide eyes meet his, over the shoulder of her understudy. The emotions are already swimming just beneath the surface.

But he needs her to _feel_ it. So he sticks to the script: a cocked brow, unbroken eye contact, cool indifference. His performance elicits the intended reaction. Ginny’s transformed features mirror what Blaise feels every time he watches Potter lay a proprietary finger on her. 

The bitterness in her eyes is more satisfying than he expected.

* * *

It makes things easier, Blaise tells himself. Restoring some balance makes certain things tolerable.

Like clapping Potter on the back at the Longbottom-Granger engagement party, and pressing a chivalrous kiss to the back of his wife’s hand.

Like beckoning her over to his sofa on the next Auror pub night, her last appearance in his flat tacitly ignored.

Like falling asleep alone, knowing she was in someone else's arms.


	4. Anything but Dull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Anything but Dull  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: None  
> Word Count: 498

"Do you have colors picked out yet?" Ginny asked. "Nothing that clashes with red, obviously."

Pansy hadn't thought about it, but she knew without hesitation. "Grey."

"Grey? It's so dull," said Hermione.

* * *

Grey is...

The creamy, silver-tipped roses Percy brought her on their first date. "I know they're a bit unusual. I assume you've had enough of pansies to last a lifetime."

The thunderous shade of sky as they were caught in a downpour the same night. Percy unfastened his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders without a second thought.

The granite headstone marking Fred's grave, where she rested her hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently as he knelt. The time he'd lost went unspoken; they both had regrets from that time in their lives.

The kitten, a small ball of wispy fluff. A gift from Percy, named Earl Grey for the way he carried himself like feline royalty.

The sweater in soft slate. Knitted by someone far warmer than her own mother, passed to her from under the tree by Potter himself. It was the moment she knew his family, blood and chosen, accepted her.

The pewter suit, bespoke and expertly fitted, that he wore to Draco and Hermione's wedding.

"What's the matter?" he asked, looking down and brushing away imaginary lint.

"You. Looking like"—she gestured in his direction—"that. It's your fault we're going to be late."

She dragged him into the bedroom, holding his gaze as she slipped each button.

The paint they chose for the walls, amusingly named Subtle Touch. Bored and distracted by the play of muscle under his shirt, she smudged paint across the bridge of his nose.

"Pansy," he said. "I can see you're looking for attention."

"Fuck subtle," she said, dropping her paintbrush. "You know I like a firm touch."

The platinum ring he slipped onto her finger.

"I'm glad you said yes," he said against her lips. "I have a list of reasons why you should, in case I needed to convince you."

Her laughter caught in her throat as she climbed into his lap. "You made a list? Of reasons I should say yes to you?"

"You know how I feel about lists." He tightened his grip on her waist. "Do you want to see it?"

"Of course I want to see it. Show me the logic."

Somewhere between _Neither of us want children, and I'll shut both of our mothers down immediately_ and _We can be silent together without ever feeling lonely,_ Pansy's heart started beating faster.

Something giddy bubbled up inside her at _Your personality is my favorite. I happen to favor a bit of acerbity._

By the time she passed _I like having secrets only the two of us know_ and reached _We're very sexually compatible,_ she let the parchment flutter to the floor.

"I might need a compatibility demonstration," she said. "Just to be sure."

* * *

"Grey is anything but dull." Pansy looked around the table. "Who's the bride here, anyway? Humor me."


	5. Portrait Predicament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Portrait Predicament  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Word Count: 100

Daphne gaped at the portrait. _"Oh._ Whose idea was the orange?"

"I'm not sure. I needed Calming Draught to sit for this." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't even see the bowtie until it was over."

Daphne tapped her lips thoughtfully. "If anyone hangs this, it might be the worst thing that's ever happened to you."

"I know," he groaned. "It's not enchanted yet." He gave her a hopeful smile. "Millie said you're very talented..."

If she hadn't already been swooning over him for years, Harry's earnest expression would have convinced her. "You'll need a different outfit."


	6. Noughts and Crosses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Noughts and Crosses  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Word Count: 499

_ "Eat, _ you stupid fish. This is literally all you do."

Buttercup, a striking yellow betta, was thriving when Neville left him. He swam lazy laps of his tank, fins fluttering regally as he surveyed his kingdom. But after three days in Ginny's care, he was nose-down in a corner: a lethargic and defiant hunger striker.

Neville should have known better. If Ginny couldn't keep his plants alive, entrusting her with something more sentient was ill-advised.

Luna came over promptly when called. Concern pinched her features as she examined the listless fish. She stroked the outside of the tank in front of Buttercup's face until he gave a half-hearted shimmy. "You've been playing with him every day, haven't you?" 

Ginny counted to five, swallowing the impulsive  _ How the fuck would I play with a fish? _ that danced on the tip of her tongue. "I'm not— No. I haven't played with him at all."

"Hmm. Buttercup seems...under-stimulated." Luna seemed to choose her own words just as carefully. "He's very intelligent, you know."

She traced a grid on the front of the tank with her wand, tapping the center space so an X appeared.

Buttercup perked. He ventured out of his corner, swimming about the front of the tank until he finally nosed against the glass in the upper right space.

Luna smiled, tapping the spot and creating an O.

Ginny blinked, sure it was a coincidence. But when Luna took the middle right, Buttercup selected the upper left. Luna finished the row across the middle.

"I'm surprised you didn't let him win." Ginny bit her lip, amused despite herself.

Luna looked slightly taken aback. "I would never insult him. They're very proud fish."

"Of course." Ginny nodded as if that made any sort of sense. "Can you try getting him to eat?"

Buttercup surfaced as though Ginny had been starving him, daintily accepting dried bloodworms from Luna's fingertips. Appetite sated, he frolicked about the tank, pausing to flick a golden fin and a glare—she would  _ swear _ it—in Ginny's direction.

"There," Luna said placidly. "Three games a day should do the trick. He'll be back on his regular meals soon enough."

Ginny stared at her. "I have practice all day. You want me to come home for lunch to play Noughts and Crosses with a betta fish?"

"You might have considered your busy schedule before agreeing to care for another living being." It would have been cutting from anyone else. From Luna, with a delicate raise of her brows, it was a gentle reproach.

Ginny had never been more certain she didn't want children. "I'm not very good at Noughts and Crosses. He might think I'm letting him win."

"Oh, that won't do." Luna tucked her wand behind her ear. "I suppose I could help take care of him. We do enjoy each other's company."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Fit or not, Nev could go straight to Luna the next time he needed a fish-sitter. 


End file.
